


what fourth wall where

by bleep0bleep



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Actor Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Artist Stiles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1927761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/pseuds/bleep0bleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is an actor on a popular TV show who strikes up an unlikely friendship--and maybe more-- with Stiles, a fan artist, when they meet at Comic Con.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what fourth wall where

**Author's Note:**

> _This work is intended for the private enjoyment of the reader. I do not give permission to this work being read aloud and/or shared with the press, or anyone working on said production of_ Teen Wolf, _including but not limited to cast, crew, writers, or producers. I also do not give permission share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads, which I believe is a resource intended for published works outside of fandom._
> 
> ~
> 
> Inspired by this lovely piece of [fanart](http://aeroplaneblues.tumblr.com/post/48486838979/internally-screaming-jen-requested-stiles-and) by the incredible Anne. This is a present for her, and the amazing [Charlie](http://peterhale.tumblr.com), who cheerleaded this enthusiastically. Thank you to [JettieBettie](http://jettiebettie.tumblr.com) for helping me come up with the title of Derek's TV show.

Derek takes a deep breath, looking at the long line of people stretched out along the convention floor, talking excitedly among themselves, clutching photographs or artwork, eagerly awaiting their turn.

It’s not that Derek doesn’t like the fans. He’s just a little confused why his line is so long; he’s not the main character, not by a long shot, and actually this is the first season he’s even made it into the opening credits. Derek’s put a lot of hard work into fleshing out his villain-turned-awkward-ally (sometimes the writers don’t give him too much information, but he does his best), so he was incredibly pleased to even be invited to the Comic Con panel. 

Meeting the fans is definitely an experience; Derek signs countless of the glossy 8x10’s that picture Rick Damnsley brandishing his phaser in the corner of the space station, uniform torn artfully in battle with the alien Koloss. (Derek has stopped trying to argue with the effects team that fabric doesn’t just spontaneously rip like that in season one.) Most popular, though, is fans asking him to autograph  _that scene,_ the one where Damnsley is practically naked, having just escaped a terrifying torture scene from the Koloss.

Derek tries not to blush when he signs those.

Derek cringes in embarrassment when one girl asks him to autograph a photo of himself in his younger days, when he starred in that terrible slasher flick, all shirtless and greasy, but it’s worth reliving the past for a second to see her light up in glee, bounce and practically run away after shaking his hand. 

The best part, though are the fans who bring original artworks of him. They’re all extremely talented and creative, and Derek recognizes many a repeat of what must be prints from the same artist with the watermark  _SS_ ; in his opinion so far, this artist is the most impressive. It’s the expression that does it; somehow they draw Rick— or rather, Derek— in the way Derek sees Rick in his own head, defiant, making his own way, stumbling forward through his anger and trying to be a better person.

While the  _SS_ 's art of Rick is gorgeous in its own right— Rick in his uniform, Rick lounging on the ship, Rick fighting the Koloss— it's really the expressions that make it incredible. Derek isn't even sure his eyes look that good in the mirror. 

There’s some sort of commotion a few people back in the line, and Derek pauses, setting down his sharpie and flexing his fingers. One of the convention staff, a enthusiastic girl named Jessie, nods at Derek. “Don’t worry, Mr. Hale. I’ll sort it out,” she says, straightening the badge that says “STAFF” pinned to her shirt and striding over. 

Derek scribbles his signature on a phone case, and he can hear in the background, “No, no it’s  _not_  fair, I’m telling you, this asshole apparently was  _ripping off my art_ and selling it here at the con! That’s theft, that is, and you know the paper he’s printing everything on is terrible, and the colors look all shitty— look, I don’t have a problem with people buying prints directly from  _me,_ I’m just saying—”

Derek looks up and there’s a young man wearing Rick’s tight purple uniform and gloves, and oh, it actually fits quite nicely on him.

He’s clutching a stack of art prints to his chest, and there’s a splotch of red high in his cheeks from where he was telling off Jessie. Behind him there’s a bored-looking surly man that Derek recognizes from the vendor’s room that morning. 

Jessie frowns. “Look, Bob is an official vendor—”

The guy snorts. “Right, paid the official fee, that’s all— look, I’ll prove it.” He pulls out a sketchpad from the messenger bag on his hip, and a few colored pencils that he balances his mouth that gets Derek distracted for a good second, and then he blinks and takes a photo from another fan, autographing it but keeping an eye on the guy.

Long fingers dance over the page, and Derek can’t see what he’s drawing, but it’s got Jessie definitely impressed. She looks between the guy and then at Bob, and then there’s a quick apology and Jessie’s calling for security to remove Bob from the convention. 

So Derek is more than a little curious when the guy steps up to Derek’s table a few minutes later. Up close he’s even cuter; creamy skin with moles sprinkled along his cheek, eyes blinking wide in excitement. “Um, Jessie said I could get more than one thing signed, and I just wanted to say it’s a pleasure to meet you!” 

This is all said very fast as the guy drops three different poster-sized prints onto the table, and he flushes with embarrassment. 

"It’s nice to meet you," Derek says, shaking his hand. "I’m Derek Hale," he says, and he knows Jessie’s been laughing at him for introducing himself to every fan, but it’s the nice thing to do. "Did I hear you say earlier you were an artist?"

"Yeah," the guy says breathlessly. "I know. Um, I’m Stiles. I draw things. Sometimes. " 

"Hi," Derek says warmly, taking the prints— and wow, they’re gorgeous. Definitely a better quality than the other prints he’s seen so far, this  _SS_ artist went all out— actually, this doesn’t look like it’s printed. It looks like actual pen and marker. An original. Derek gapes at it a little. 

He looks up, and Stiles is blinking nervously, holding— whoa, is that what he drew in a few  _minutes?_  On the open page of the sketchbook he’s holding is a clear profile of Derek himself, looking down in concentration at the autograph table, done in the obvious  _SS_ style. 

Derek signs his name on all the posters, and then reaches for the sketch. 

"Oh no, man, this one’s crappy," Stiles protests.

"No, it’s not, I like it," Derek insists. There’s still a long line of people behind Stiles, but as he’s looking up into his amber eyes he just wants to talk to him longer, get to know him. 

"Hey, Jessie?" Derek asks. "We, er, still have one more of those special meet-and-greet passes, right?" 

"Um," Jessie says, looking between him and Stiles. Derek winks at her. "Oh yes, certainly, one more special pass coming right up." She ducks behind the curtain, and there’s the electronic whirr of the printer, and then comes out with an official looking card. 

"Here you go," Derek says, handing it to Stiles along with the posters he just signed. "I’m looking forward to hearing about your art later," he says. "And maybe…just more about you." 

 

* * *

 

It’s… really nice having a friend outside the film industry. Derek works long hours on set, and strains his body in weird position fighting fictional aliens, gets his clothes torn off and tries to bring some semblance of humanity and depth to his badly written character. So when the little “boop beep boop beep” Skype ringtone sounds from his laptop after the end of his 12-hour day, Derek sighs happily.

He is forever grateful he’s met Stiles at Comic Con a few months ago. 

"Hey! How are you doing?" Stiles grins at him from the laptop screen, waving enthusiastically.

"Ugh, tired. The last two days have been nothing but swamp and more swamp," Derek says.

Stiles claps his hands over his ears immediately, saying “Spoilers, Derek,” but then he lets them go and raises an eyebrow. “Wait, does this mean the crew is going back to the Penzor planet? Ugh, don’t tell me, I hate spoilers!” 

"Right, I’m sorry," Derek says, sticking his tongue out. "But who was the one who pestered me for weeks if Rick was going to die in season three?"

“ _Hey,_ the whole fandom was in a tizzy, okay, you were so fucking  _cryptic,_ telling me you were going to have some time off to visit me, and then you tweeted that ‘thanks for the memories’ thing to your the set—” 

Derek laughs, leaning back in his chair, his whole body sore from filming today. 

Stiles grins brightly at him, and Derek wishes he could reach through the screen and give him a hug. He wonders if Stiles knows how much their friendship means to him, and if he knows that if Derek had the chance, he would want so much more.

As it is, Stiles lives in Beacon Hills, a small town in northern California, and season four of  _Wolves of Warlux: Nebula VII_  is filming in Florida, to capture the humid swamps of Penzor, and Derek misses his friend desperately.

He wonders if he wasn’t an actor if they’d be dating by now. 

"So, how was your day?" 

"Great, great," Stiles says happily. "Look, the first issue came in the mail!" He holds up proudly the graphic novel that was just published, and Derek can see the words  _By Stiles Stilinski_ embossed on the cover.

"I’m really proud of you!" Derek says, and Stiles beams. They chat for a few minutes, and after awhile Derek stifles a yawn. He wants to stay up so badly, but it’s late.

"Hey, sorry, I forgot, time difference, is it like midnight there?" Stiles asks.

"Yeah," Derek says. "Hey, did you finish that fanart you said you were working on yesterday?"

Stiles blushes. “Um, yeah, I finished it. It got like over a thousand notes already, which is cool.”

Derek doesn’t understand how to measure things on the Internet, but he guesses this is a good thing. “Awesome, can I see?”

"Um, okay, here," Stiles says, and in the chatbox pops up a link that takes Derek to… actually, he’s seen this before. It’s a nice depiction of him as Rick Damnsley striking a heroic pose amidst phaser fire from an unseen enemy. Stiles showed this to him a month ago. 

"That’s awesome," Derek says neutrally, wondering if Stiles actually sent him a wrong link or if he just doesn’t want Derek to see it, which is strange. Stiles knows that Derek supports all his art, even the ones Stiles himself isn’t too proud of. He’s pretty sure there’s some minor blemish that Stiles is obsessing over, that’s why he’s too embarrassed for Derek to see it. 

They say their goodnights, and Derek forgets all about the mysterious art until he arrives on set the next morning. 

Inside his trailer is a huge blow-up printout of a fanart that’s— wow. Um. 

Derek sets down his coffee, staring, ears burning with heat, looking around. 

The trailer door opens, and Derek’s co-star, Jackson Whittemore sticks his head in, snickering loudly. On screen, he plays the humble starship captain, Adam Blingley, but off screen he’s a huge arrogant pain. “I found that last night on Tumblr,” Jackson says. 

"Um, thank you?" Derek says, flushing hotly in embarrassment. It’s supposed to be his character, he knows, but it’s still his face, his body…and, er…

"Yeah, it’s pretty cool," Jackson agrees. "You should see the ones they draw of me."

"I’d really rather not," Derek says faintly. 

"Suit yourself. I’ll see you in a bit. We’re gonna kick Koloss ass today!" Jackson says, whooping enthusiastically and then leaving Derek’s trailer. 

Derek stares at the art, which Jackson took the time to enlarge to life-size, probably get the most embarrassment out of Derek, and it’s working.

It’s Rick—well, Derek—- sitting in the cockpit of the escape shuttle they used in season three, episode five. His head thrown back, eyes glazed over, mouth open in a silent cry. The purple uniform shirt is torn in shreds and the black pants are shoved down around his thighs, legs spread and he’s fisting a massive cock that’s spurting come all over his exposed torso. 

Derek doesn’t know what to think. On one hand he probably is supposed to feel violated or something, but it’s just someone’s fantasy of his character, that’s all, and he doesn’t really begrudge fans whatever they do in their spare time. Actually, now that he thinks about it, the idea is kind of hot, and Derek knows there is a particular artist he’d like to jack off in front of…

"Derek, hair and makeup is ready for you," the voice of his P.A. states from outside his down.

"Okay, be there in a bit," Derek says. 

The filming for the day is strenuous, and when Derek finally stumbles back into his trailer to grab his wallet and jacket before he goes back to his hotel, he takes another look at the poster.

Derek blinks.

He didn’t realize it this morning, was too preoccupied with the lewdness of the art and then fantasizing about Stiles, but he can see it now. There’s no signature on the art or even a watermark, but he  _knows_ this style down to his very bones. 

Derek grabs his cellphone, dialing quickly.

"Derek!" Stiles says warmly. "Done with shooting already?"

"Stiles," Derek says. "So I’m looking at the art you drew last night, and I’m not talking about the fight scene." 

"Oh, shit," Stiles says. "Derek, I am so, so sorry—"

"Why did you make my dick so big?" Derek asks suddenly. 

"You’re not mad?" Stiles asks cautiously. 

"I love—"  _you_ , Derek doesn’t say, “—your art. I don’t care if you like to draw fictional dicks.” Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. “And I mean  _fictional,_ damn, Stiles.” 

"Artistic liscense," Stiles says, laughing to himself. "Come on, it’s not like we’ve ever seen your dick on the show. You’ve got an impressive bulge, I can extrapolate." 

"How about I show you the real thing and you get it right?" Derek asks without thinking, but its too late, the words have already left his mouth. 

Wow, this really wasn’t the way Derek was thinking of moving their friendship to the next level—

"Yeah, yeah, we can definitely do that," Stiles says breathlessly. 

**Author's Note:**

> Jackson probably follows Stiles on tumblr. 
> 
> ~
> 
> Thanks for reading! You can find me [here.](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com)


End file.
